My Last Breath
by Lady Elrayen
Summary: Morgana's POV during the short time she and Merlin are in the Throne Room, leading to the events of her being poisoned. She wasn't aware she was the reason it was happening, she wasn't aware that Merlin had a motive; all she knew was that she was scared


Hello, fellow Merlin fans!

I'll write my authors note now, so that the mood and emotion at the end isn't broken. This fic is Morgana's innocent POV juts before she is poisoned and when she is. It was inspired by Evanescence's song – My Last Breath, which has some lovely lyrics.

I would really appreciate reviews... story faves are fantastic, but what I really would like to know is what you think – so please do! hugs

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, else I would be happy. Very happy.**

~oooOMOooo~

You're scared, Merlin, and I can tell Arthur is too. I don't need reassurance or lies that all is going to be alright, because I can tell that it is not.

Arthur is out there, now, fighting. I don't understand why those knights – creatures, whatever they are – will not die... something I fear that we will do all too soon. Knowing that death may be imminent isn't as scary as I thought it would be. With the way things are going, it seems like a nicer option, because lets face it, you are both sick and could by dying even now whilst Arthur fights and you gather cloth from beneath Uther.

I allow my gaze to focus on Uther's relaxed face, my face blank. Yes, I have wanted this for a long time, but to see my sister's plan unfold before my very eyes makes me doubtful...

No, I am relieved.

I think.

I cannot deny my shock at feeling some form of remorse for how my actions have helped today's events occur, or the way it is making me feel. Not once did I consider that I would be putting the people of Camelot's lives and those of my friends at risk, for I have been too blinded by my hatred for Uther. now I know only two people are awake and alive; one I know is alive only by the occasional yell over the clanging of swords, and the other, you, Merlin, because you are here with me.

I am glad it is you.

You break me from my reverie by kneeling down beside me and handing me the cloth. I can see the rings under your fevered eyes getting darker whilst you only get paler, and your head shining with sweat as your breathing becomes faster as though it is becoming more and more difficult.

"Tear this up, help make some rope."

All I can do is nod, my mind is too overwhelmed to allow myself to talk.

The sound of tearing material echoes around the room, easy to hear in the near silence. The task is good for allowing my mind to go blank; my hands unconsciously going through the motions of gripping the cold material between my fingers and pulling it apart.

My eyes half heartedly focus on a tile on the floor. I had never really looked at the floor; the floor where so many people had walked over with their boots over countless years since Camelot began.

And Camelot is now dying.

You pull me out of my reverie, offering a furred water skin. I catch a brief expression cross your face, one of contemplation and determination, but it is gone as soon as I register it.

"Here, have some water," you say breathlessly.

I eye it, having completely ignored the need for food or water. Despite not being able to remember the last time I had something to drink, my thirst has remained forgotten. And it will until we get out alive.

"I'm not thirsty," I reply, a little too harshly, but you have always been insistent, so why stop now? I go back to tearing the cloth.

"If we get out of here, you may not get another chance to drink." This is true, but at a time like this; a time of uncertainty, I cannot bring myself to drink.

"If we get out of here."

My voice wavers slightly as what I have just said sinks in.

A yell from Arthur rings out from beyond the wooden doors, bringing an end to our short debate. I watch as you sigh and head towards the door handing me the water skin, which I all but snatch and drop to the floor, ignoring it to continue with my task.

I haven't heard any noise from beyond the door since Arthur's yell, causing a lump to form in my throat. You, Merlin, do not seem to have heard anything either, as you run back to me.

I can see out of the corner of my eye as you reach to my side to retrieve the ignored water skin, the plug being pulled out with a wet pop.

The sound of your refreshed gasp causes my mind to wander back to my thirst. I can no longer ignore my parched throat, swollen tongue and cracking lips...

"Here-"

"I'm fine." Maybe I should.

"No, you have some before I finish it," you reply.

I lift my gaze to meet yours, noting how you have become paler in the short amount of time since we have been in the throne room. You look like you might pass out.

The insistence in your eyes allows me to give into my thirst. I nod in acceptance, seeing relief flash across your features. Your concern is flattering, and it makes me smile.

"Thank you."

You give the briefest nod and watch me as though making sure I drink. You're a loyal friend, Merlin.

I tilt the water skin into my mouth, and allow the stale liquid to travel down my throat, quenching my thirst. Despite the taste, it is a reprieve to wet my mouth and throat. I have to stop myself after gulp or two, wanting to save what precious water we have.

The sounds of clashing swords makes me still. I quickly replace the cap and you take it form me with a snatch, leaving me ready to resume making some rope.

I can see Merlin turn to face the window, and I just assume he is trying to figure out the best way to lower the rope from there.

Silence once again fills the once busy throne room, with only the tearing of fabric for company.

Some of the dust from the material must be floating around, because it makes me cough slightly; my throat tickling.

Just as I reach down to grab another piece of cloth, I feel something strange, making me pause in confusion and concentration.

It feels as though something is tightening my wind pipe, making the air feel as though it is too thick to inhale.

My hand instinctively goes to my throat, where the itching has started again as I feel myself gasp shakily. My heart begins to thud hard in my panic, causing small beads of sweat to begin forming on my forehead.

I look to my side, wondering if it could really be the dust from the fabric causing this, but watching you as you turn around, Merlin, I realise it is not.

Your nod and tear gives me all the confirmation I need.

My stomach drops and my heart constricts in fear, and I feel as though I have suddenly been plunged into icy water. My surroundings are now forgotten as I give a small cry, watching with frightened eyes as you step closer.

If it weren't for my panic and shock, I would run away.

You've poisoned me, Merlin.

I am dying.

Oh Gods, I am dying.

Please, no...

My mind races at a stupidly fast pace, but my only coherent thought at the moment is to try and get out of the firm grip that is holding my shoulders.

I look into your eyes one last time. I see resolve, purpose and regret swimming around your bright blue orbs I had grown to love.

I forget we are friends, because right now, you are the most dangerous person in my life.

In my hazed fear, I try to wriggle out of your grip, but you only hold my shoulders all the more steady. The actions all but use up the last of my energy, as I feel myself sink to the floor, desperately trying to gulp in the air my body craves.

Before I know it, you have twisted me onto my back, holding me to your chest with surprisingly strong arms.

Either that or I am getting weaker.

I am dying.

I am vaguely aware of the feel of your frenzied heartbeat in your chest, and the way your chest rises with strained breathing.

But the sheer terror of not being able to breathe forces me to forget what I can feel. But I do not cease trying to pull away your arm that refuses to move. All I can do is try and grasp it; my remaining point of gravity to the world.

Oh Gods, I am dying.

I am never going to see the sun rise or fall again, hear the birds chirp, walk out across the streets and fields of Camelot, laugh with Gwen, feel the smooth motion of my riding horse...

I don't want to die.

I can tell the end is approaching; my eye sight is getting blurry and blackened around the edges.

For the first time, I am glad someone is with me, even it is my once friend now turned betrayer. Despite your rigid back and stiff arm, your hold on me is a comfort to know that I am not alone.

I know you can help each of my desperate gasps, because you flinch ever so slightly each time. I can taste the salt from your tears as they fall onto my face, but even the feel of that is starting to fade as I try with sheer will to stop each breath being my last.

I am holding my last breath.

My jumbled mind is starting to slow, but then the realisation as to why you may have done this hits me.

Is all of this all my doing? Maybe it is revenge. Or was it to save me? He is after all probably going to die, and Arthur is going to die. That would leave me alone in Camelot.

_Don't be afraid, Morgana._ I can hear Merlin's voice in my head, speaking in a soothing voice, but it must be my mind playing tricks on me as it begins to fade.

All I know is one thing for certain.

You're scared, Merlin, and I can tell Arthur is too.

So am I.


End file.
